Invitation
Cersei yawns, stretching in the huge hotel bed, long enough that her immaculately pedicured feet don’t touch the end. It’s a delicious feeling and she sighs, stretching again, yawning, showing her white teeth in the dark room. Her lover and their cub are off presumably having breakfast and she’s perfectly happy to let Ser Jaime do so. She prefers her breakfast as brunch and best served on an immaculate tray.
Since no one is there to see, the lioness rolls over and over on the silk-finished sheets in utter pleasure, every nerve tingling and sparkling like strands of gold, so intense that Cersei feels like she gives her own light, like she is the sun rising in the darkness of that room, day’s herald, day’s queen. She purrs in deep, quiet satisfaction.
There is a tap at the door; Cersei’s head swivels sharply to the front sitting room and the door, for a moment not sure if she’ll need to attack or make firm complaint about inexcusably poor service at the Fairmont. The tap repeats in a particular pattern only she knows. She slips on a gold silk robe and goes to greet whoever is there.
The first thing Cersei sees is immaculately woven green braids crowning the head bowed before her, body in an elegant dip, a perfect bow. The girl stands up with her silver tray, Cersei noting her crisp black and white houndstooth suit, the dainty emeralds on chains in the top cartilage of each ear. Cersei nods, the girl glides in smooth as a ship through calm waters, the straight seams of her perfect Cuban heel stockings, her dark jade patent heels. When she’s placed her tray on the low table before the leather sofa, the girl stands at attention, ready to spring into any action Cersei might wish. Cersei takes another moment to look at her, admiring her poise. She is fine work indeed; she may be a servant but Cersei knows this girl will suffer no fools, will not bend her knee to any but those deserving of it.
Cersei likes it.
Cersei’s hands move in an elegant series of motions: Well done Cersei signs, I am pleased. Thank you. The green girl bows from the waist, a shaft of light glinting on the heavy silver hardware on her emerald leather collar. She places an envelope with swirls of calligraphy in Cersei’s hands, stands back up and waits to be dismissed. Cersei does, noting the crisp precision of her farewell bow, the silent closure of the room’s door, the deep silence outside not even marred by a single footstep.
Cersei walks to the sofa, turns on the softest lamp. The envelope is heavy paper, rich and pale as cream with a black wax seal. Cersei cracks it open, stretching to conquer the entire sofa so she can read and lounge in peace.
We hope this finds you well and enjoying your visit. It is a pleasure and an honor to have you in our city. San Francisco is made brighter by your presence.
The words are like sinking into a warm bath, Cersei sighing, skin sparking again from the leather, the silk of her robe, the soft scent of lavender clinging to her hair.
At your leisure, there is a cell phone awaiting you at the concierge; the bringer of this note will be at your disposal as you wish during your stay. She is one of our finest with skills as diverse as advanced butler training, krav maga, diplomacy, personal assistance, blade work and deep tissue massage. Please enjoy her as we do.
Cersei finds this intriguing, arches a perfect brow as she reads on.
You and any appropriate retinue are welcome at the society at any time. We look forward to your presence at high tea. It has been too long since we have seen our sunlit lioness and the beauty of her fangs. Welcome. Welcome. Welcome.
Yours in service and yours in strength,
M. Jacqueline
Samois House
San Francisco
The Lannister queen allows herself to smile, relax into the cushions. Samois house is a holdfast, no one comes in or goes out unless invited. Cersei likes it that way, enjoys that security awaiting her and Sansa.
Cersei thinks Sansa will find the house as delightful as she does, though perhaps for different reasons. The thought brings another unexpected smile as she thinks how pretty her red girl will look beside the jade-crowned girl. And the others--like a jewel box, Cersei thinks, locked up safe. She looks at the letter one last moment before she prepares for her bath.
Post. Script: The coffee is as you prefer. We trust you enjoy fresh croissants; her pastry is exquisite.
Cersei looks at the silver tray; a jet-rimmed china plate covered by a rich snowy napkin. Now Cersei’s catching the buttery, delicious scent while admiring the knife-sharp pleats of her white-edged black napkin. She lifts the china cup from its ebony saucer, sips. It is as she likes; the sharp bite of black coffe with a ghost of sugar swirling up within.
Loveliest of all, it is still hot.